"Arise"

The moment Vaelin lowered his hand, the world changed.

Not all at once.

Not in some dramatic, instant explosion.

No, it was slower. More insidious. Like something that had already been shifting beneath the surface had finally been given permission to rise.

The trees exhaled.

A deep, groaning sound, like ancient wood bending under unseen pressure. The air grew thick, humid, tainted with the scent of wet earth and something… sickly sweet.

And then, the ground moved.

It wasn't violent.

There was no great tremor, no violent cracking.

It was subtle. A creeping shift beneath their feet. A faint pulse, a slow heartbeat thrumming through the soil.

The shadows deepened, stretching where they shouldn't. The trees at the edge of the clearing seemed taller than before, their branches twisting inward, as if the forest itself was watching.

And then, the bodies twitched.

The corpses that had littered the battlefield, the ones that had fallen in the last attack, began to shift.

Limbs convulsed. Heads tilted, snapping at wrong angles.

Then—one by one—they rose.

At first, they moved like the dead.

Jerked motions. Unnatural, uneven.

But then—they steadied.

Bones cracked, resetting. Spines straightened. Hands twitched, then curled into fists.

And they stood.

Not mindless.

Not shambling.

Just waiting.

Watching.

And they were not alone.

From the trees, more figures stepped forward.

Not corpses.

Not adventurers.

Something… twisted.

Humanoid in shape, but wrong in every possible way.

Their bodies woven from bark and rotted flesh, their arms elongated into clawed branches, their skin pulsating like it was trying to decide whether it was alive or dead.

Some moved in unnatural bursts, twitching forward with a sudden lurch, then stopping—waiting—listening.

Others flowed like liquid, their forms shifting between solid and something else entirely.

And behind them—

The trees themselves began to move.

Not walking. Not uprooting.

But leaning, stretching, their branches curling like grasping fingers.

The forest was not a battleground.

The forest was the enemy.

"Ah, there it is."

Vaelin's voice cut through the silence like silk through flesh.

He didn't look at the army he had just summoned.

Didn't glance at the undead warriors standing at attention.

He only had eyes for Kai.

For his people.

And he smiled.

"I had hoped we could avoid this. But I suppose you've made your decision."

The militia was still.

Weapons clenched. Breath uneven.

Some—**just a few—**shifted.

Doubt in their stances.

Because the system had told them the truth.

Surrender was an option.

A guaranteed way out.

Kai could feel it. The hesitation.

And Vaelin saw it too.

His smile widened.

"You can still change your mind," he said smoothly.

"There is no shame in choosing life."

Kai breathed out slowly.

His eyes flickered across the battlefield. The undead. The shifting trees.

The soldiers who had just won a fight now standing on the verge of another, larger war.

The weight of it all settled on his shoulders.

And then, he laughed.

It wasn't forced.

It wasn't bitter.

It was sharp, bright, effortless.

The kind of laugh that didn't belong in a moment like this.

Vaelin's brow arched.

Kai grinned, hands on his hips.

"Man, you really don't shut up, do you?"

Darren barked out a laugh.

Sasha snorted.

Even Taia let out a breath that could've been a chuckle.

The tension cracked. Just a little.

Vaelin tilted his head slightly.

"You think this is amusing?"

Kai exhaled.

"Oh, absolutely. I mean, come on. You're standing there, all dramatic, doing your little 'I am inevitable' monologue, and for what?"

He gestured vaguely at the battlefield.

"You've got a bunch of fancy zombie trees and some undead dudes in discount armor. Not exactly original, man."

He clicked his tongue.

"Now, if you summoned, like, an army of flaming skeletal wolves, I'd be impressed."

Darren nodded seriously. "Flaming skeletal wolves would be sick."

Vaelin's expression didn't change.

But something in the air did.

"I see," he murmured.

His hand lowered.

The shadows surged.

"Then let's begin."

System Alert: Final Battle Started

The first Deathroot lunged.

The fight had begun.

------

The moment Vaelin's hand lowered, the battlefield erupted.

The forest—**his domain—**answered him instantly.

The trees lurched, groaning as their branches twisted inward, reaching. The earth split, darkened roots spilling from the soil like grasping tendrils.

And the Deathroot horde surged forward.

Kai barely had time to shout a warning before the first one was on him.

It moved like a nightmare.

Not a charging beast. Not a mindless husk.

It flowed.

One moment it was **standing still—**the next, it was closing the distance in a blink, its elongated claws swinging down in an arcing swipe.

Kai twisted, ducking low. The claws missed him by inches, slicing through the air with a whipping crack.

Fast.

Too fast.

Kai didn't hesitate. His palm snapped out—Rift Palm colliding with its torso.

The impact sent a rippling shockwave through its frame— but it didn't crumble.

Not immediately.

The creature convulsed, twisting, its chest splitting outward like rotten wood being hacked apart from the inside.

It staggered.

Then, finally, it collapsed into dust.

Kai barely had time to breathe before the next one came.

"They're fast!" Sasha called, loosing an arrow.

Her shot struck true, piercing through one of the Deathroot's skulls— but instead of collapsing, the creature kept moving.

It jerked mid-stride, head twisting unnaturally, but its body didn't stop.

Sasha's eyes widened.

"Shit—"

Darren was already moving. His blade cut clean through the creature's midsection, slicing it in two with a violent crack of splitting bark.

The pieces writhed, twitching, before they finally stilled.

Darren snorted. "Gotta take 'em apart completely."

All around them, the battle exploded.

The militia held their ground, their weapons clashing against the encroaching undead.

But these weren't like the usual reanimated corpses.

They didn't stagger. They didn't moan.

They fought.

Calculated. Precise.

Some of them darted around attacks, moving like they had muscle memory from a life before this one.

Others didn't even bother dodging— because their bodies could twist, shift, bend at impossible angles to avoid being truly destroyed.

Juno shouted a warning as one snaked an arm around his blade, the flesh stretching like pliable vines.

It didn't even react when he stabbed it.

Kai cursed, snapping his hand forward.

Sheer Cutter carved through the creature's frame, severing its limb completely.

The thing let out a rasping, wet sound—then collapsed, its body unraveling into darkened pulp.

Juno exhaled sharply, nodding. "Noted. We take 'em apart fast."

Kai grinned, flexing his fingers. "Yeah, or they'll take us apart first."

The battle raged.

Magic crackled, blades clashed, arrows flew.

The militia was holding. Barely.

For every creature they felled, two more surged forward.

Kai moved fast, darting between fighters, Rift Palm collapsing Deathroots where they stood.

Darren carved through the thick of them, his sword an unrelenting force.

Sasha rained arrows from above, each one striking true— but not always killing.

And then—

A burst of fire exploded across the battlefield.

A militia fighter had cast it—a low-tier fire spell, nothing special.

But the moment it struck the nearest undead, something different happened.

The Deathroot let out a piercing shriek, a horrible, unnatural wail.

Its body didn't just burn.

It withered.

Shriveled like something had sapped its very essence, curling in on itself until nothing remained but smoldering ash.

Kai's head snapped toward it.

Oh.

Oh, that was interesting.

The fighter who had cast it—**a wide-eyed girl, barely twenty—**stared in shock.

Juno grabbed her arm, pulling her back before another creature lunged for her.

"Do that again!" he barked.

She blinked, still shaken, but thrust her hands forward, casting another burst of fire.

The next Deathroot met the same fate—shriveling, curling inward, burning away like dried leaves.

Kai grinned.

"Well, would you look at that."

He glanced toward Darren.

"At least this part of video games was accurate."

Darren snorted, even as he slashed through another undead.

"Yeah, great. Now, if only someone had holy magic, we could make this a real fair fight."

Kai was still grinning.

Not because of the fire spell.

But because he could feel the weight of the sword on his back.

Still untouched. Still waiting.

Fire.

His mind clicked.

Fire wasn't just a counter.

It was the counter.

And he had a flame sword.

He could make it something more.

But not yet.

Not yet.

Vaelin was still watching.

Still waiting.

Kai would give him what he wanted.

A battle.

A war.

_____

The battlefield raged behind him, but Kai didn't look back.

Fire had become the key—the militia was holding their own now, learning to exploit the weakness.

But Vaelin was Still standing at the edge of the forest, still composed, still waiting.

That meant it was time for Kai to test something.

He rolled his shoulders, exhaling sharply, before breaking into a sprint—straight toward Vaelin.

The Deathroot Colossus didn't move.

Didn't react.

Not until Kai was nearly on top of him.

Then—a flick of his wrist.

The ground erupted.

Thick, blackened roots lashed upward like whips, tearing through the soil, striking out like spears.

Kai twisted, dodging left—vaulted over one, ducked another.

Then, he shot forward.

Vaelin watched, curious.

Kai's hand snapped out—Rift Palm striking toward his chest.

The attack landed.

And nothing happened.

Kai barely had time to react before Vaelin's own hand lifted.

It wasn't a punch.

It wasn't even a real attack.

It was a simple, effortless push.

The force sent Kai flying.

He twisted mid-air, landing with a skidding roll, boots digging into the dirt.

Okay. That was useless.

Vaelin tilted his head.

"Strange," he mused. "Your technique was enough to cleave through my creations, yet against me, it barely registered."

Kai cracked his neck, rolling his wrists.

"Yeah, well. First round's always a warm-up."

He shot forward again.

This time, he feinted—Rift Palm snapping toward Vaelin's torso, only to twist last second, aiming for his ribs instead.

The attack landed cleanly.

And again—nothing.

No break. No recoil.

Vaelin's frame absorbed the impact like he was carved from the same roots he commanded.

Not solid. Not soft.

Just… unaffected.

Kai clicked his tongue.

Vaelin sighed.

"You're trying to unravel something you do not understand."

He lifted a hand—and the forest answered.

A blackened branch, twisted and burning at the edges, tore from the ground, landing at Kai's feet.

Vaelin's eyes glimmered.

"Perhaps fire is the answer you seek?"

Kai stared at the makeshift weapon.

Then, grinned.

"Oh? Gifting me a sword already? What happened to dinner first?"

He grabbed the burning branch, spinning it in his grip.

It wasn't much.

But it was enough.

Kai surged forward, striking out with a wide arc.

Vaelin moved this time.

Not fast. Not panicked.

Just… stepping aside.

The branch cut through nothing but air.

Then—Vaelin's hand caught it mid-swing.

The wood withered instantly.

The flames snuffed out like a candle pinched between fingers.

Kai's stomach twisted.

That's not fair.

Vaelin examined the now-lifeless branch, then tossed it aside like it was unworthy of his time.

"Fire is effective against my creations," he said lightly, "but against me? You'll need something much greater."

His gaze flickered to Kai's back.

To the greatsword strapped there.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"But I see you already know that."

Kai tensed.

Vaelin's smile deepened.

"Why haven't you drawn it yet?" he mused. "Or are you simply unsuited to such a weapon? I had assumed you preferred fighting with your hands."

Kai blinked.

Then, he grinned.

"Yeah, well, I also don't play the flute, but you don't see me carrying one of those around."

Darren's laughter echoed from the battlefield.

Sasha groaned.

Vaelin's expression remained unreadable.

"Amusing."

Then, in a single, fluid motion—he lifted his hand.

The ground roared to life.

The real fight was about to begin.